


long live the car crash hearts

by owleyes



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Eating Disorders, M/M, Poor Niall, basically a pile of angst, there's brief smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-14
Updated: 2013-08-14
Packaged: 2017-12-23 12:46:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/926593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owleyes/pseuds/owleyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>and harry doesn't think that this is how love is supposed to be. it's supposed to be gentle and kind, not with them being at each other's throats by the end of each scene, not the mind games or the jealousy.</p><p>(not the way harry looks across at louis sometimes and thinks, we'd be better off dead).</p><p>or:</p><p>harry and louis have never been good for each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	long live the car crash hearts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> for morgan (inkedlips) because she’s a sweetheart whose writing makes me weep on a regular basis. go worship her if you don’t already.
> 
> i am well aware that this is an english major’s worst nightmare and does not make sense in a lot of places, but everything goes with fiction, right? my deepest apologies for my over-use of the word ‘and’. all criticism is welcome.
> 
> disclaimer: i don’t own anything.
> 
> title from ‘thriller’ by fall out boy.

_i'm dead_ , he thinks, and yet he's never felt more alive.

 

*

 

they're an accident, of sorts.

 

a thing which wasn't supposed to happen, a thousand moments which shouldn't have taken place, concealed behind drawn curtains and the gaps between their fingers.

 

harry likes to compare them to the stars, when he's drunk off of cheap whiskey (they could afford the most expensive whiskey in the world, louis thinks, and yet harry always insist on getting the shitty kind, claims it's better) and louis' kisses, beads of sweat resting on the broad line of his shoulders. they're bright and burning and beautiful, and harry thinks that they're going to last forever.

 

he whispers as much to louis late at night when they're tangled beneath the sheets, skin barely touching. "we're like the stars, you know? we're like the constellations. when we die people will invent stories from our names."

 

but louis wishes that they weren't like the stars, because maybe then they wouldn't have to hide in dark corners and shadowed rooms. maybe then he wouldn't be terrified for the day that they burn out.

 

so he says, "sure, haz. whatever you want," and bites down on harry's jugular.

 

*

 

louis' all pent up energy and adrenaline, racing around at sound check and pissing everyone off.

 

him and niall sneak up on harry and he startles, let's out an undignified squeal which has niall and louis cracking up. harry pouts, mock offended, and doesn't stop sulking until louis kisses the pout from his face.

 

"you guys are gross," niall groans, and runs off to find liam and zayn. harry doesn't think that's such a good idea.

 

"we are, aren't we," louis says from his spot on harry's lap, his smile small and directed just at harry. harry wraps his arms tighter around louis' waist and thinks, _you're going to kill me._

 

*

 

sometimes, harry thinks he could carry on like this forever.

 

with the stares and the touches and the inside jokes and the constant ache of _neverenoughmoremoremore_. it's a thrill, a rush, the exciting feeling of almost getting caught.

 

but sometimes he just wants the comforting feel  of louis' hand on his lower back in public. he wants to be able to lean down and kiss him whenever the urge strikes him, and for god's sake, he wants to be able to look at louis for more than a moment without management breathing down their necks.

 

but this is okay, he reasons. if this is all he can have, he can live with it.

 

*

 eleanor's flown out to whatever state of america they're in now and harry can feel the angry clenching of his stomach every time she smiles.

 

 _'damage control',_   management had said, and they had nodded as if they understood, like puppets on strings.

 

she's all long hair and long legs and long nails, and she looks beautiful perched on louis' arm. her hand is resting on his hip, curled into a loose grip, and harry wonders if she can feel the bruises harry left there the night before through louis' clothes.

 

they all go out for dinner - _'for appearance's sake, please'_ \- and louis doesn't look at harry the entire night. zayn sends him pitying glances, his hand resting reassuringly on harry's knee throughout the starter, and harry snaps, “you can't talk”, his gaze on liam and danielle.

 

zayn doesn't talk to him for the rest of the night.

 

*

 

the interviewer is older and pretty and her eyes are glued to harry the entire time.

 

she flirts with him, her pale-pink mouth quirked into a coy smile, and harry can feel louis' eyes burn through his skin.

 

and he knows it's wrong and he shouldn't, but -

 

fuck it. fuck louis, so harry leans in closer and looks at her from beneath his eyelashes and doesn't flinch when she rests a hand on his knee, her voice shrill.

 

louis fucks him in the bathroom stall of a petrol station afterwards, rough and bruising, his fingers leaving indents in harry's hips, and harry loves it.

 

 _mine,_ louis growls, his thrusts shallow, and harry stares at them in the cracked mirror, at the compelling picture they make.

 

 _yours,_ he chokes out, and comes.

 

*

 

"can i have a drag?"

 

and harry figured that if he were going to have a release, this one would work just fine. zayn hands him the cigarette without question, the current city stretched out before them. he thinks this one might look a little different from the others, but probably not.

 

"that bad, yeah?" zayn asks, and harry was silly for thinking that he'd get away with it unscathed. so he shrugs and hands the fag back with shaking hands.

 

*

 

but it's not all bad, harry thinks. because sometimes harry doesn't yell and louis doesn't ignore him and they fit together like missing puzzle pieces. sometimes it’s words of love traced into bare ankles and _until we die, yeah?_ whispered into the folds of necks. sometimes it's like a scene from a love film, and harry can almost see the red thread tied around their pinky fingers.

 

but the world has to catch up on them eventually and it's back to harsh words and sharp looks and bites left on collarbones, bruises shaped like fingers on the insides of thighs.

 

and harry wants to stay in the moments of happiness that they find, wants to freeze themselves in time. but the cameras keep rolling and they have a special part to play. the show must go on, and -

 

(lights, camera, action).

 

*

 

"do you think it's worth it, h?"

 

harry looks across at him, his phone momentarily abandoned. he was texting with gemma, confirming their plans for the upcoming break the band have. he's going home to holmes chapel to spend some time with his family. he doesn't know if louis is going with him.

 

(isn't sure if he cares).

 

"what do you mean?" harry asks. they're alone in the dressing room, the other boys gone off to check out the stage for the night's show.

 

"do you think it's worth it?"

 

and harry knows what he's talking about, of course he does, it's just. he's not sure to answer. he bites the inside of his cheek and meets louis' gaze. "yes."

 

louis watches him for a moment longer, his mouth soft. "okay."

 

 

*

 

and he wonders if it would hurt less if he set himself on fire, because sometimes -

 

harry remembers his mum reading bedtime stories to him when he was younger, and how gemma always teased him because he preferred the princess stories more than the books about the gladiators. and he's watched all the films, knows how things are supposed to play out.

 and harry doesn't think that this is how love is supposed to be. it's supposed to be gentle and kind, not with them being at each other's throats by the end of each scene, not the mind games or the jealousy.

(not the way harry looks across at louis sometimes and thinks, _we'd be better off dead_ ).

 

*

 

harry shuts the shower off and stands there for a moment, mesmerized in the way the drops of water race down the shower door. he thinks it might be a metaphor for something, but he was never poetic and he's not going to start now. he eventually grabs a towel and heads back to the hotel bedroom where louis is sleeping, the quilt drawn down to his waist.

 

louis' beautiful like this, soft and unguarded, with his only audience being harry and the sunlight which peeks through the curtains. his hair is a mess and there are indents in his cheeks from the pillows, and it makes harry's breath catch.

 

he crosses the room to the bed, shucking his towel halfway there, and climbs in beside louis. the bed's still warm from where he lay the night before and he watches the movement underneath louis' eyelids as he dreams.

 

his breaths are deep, and harry watches the way his skin stretches tight over his ribs, the slight concave of his stomach. harry thinks back to the last time he saw louis eat and realises he can't remember. (realises he doesn’t' care).

 

he reaches into the bedside drawer and takes out the half-empty packet, lighting up right there in the room. he blows smoke rings up to the ceiling and figures they can both have their own releases, if it helps.

 

(it doesn't really, but he smokes another and another and pretends it does, waits for louis to wake up).

 

 *

 

"do you think it might be better if you guys took a break?"

 

and harry doesn't know if he's confused or angry at niall's question.

 

(he's mostly indifferent. he doesn't care about much these days.)

 

"what do you mean?" louis asks, and harry tilts his head back so that he can see him, louis' chest against his back. he looks just as unconcerned as harry.

 

"it's just..."

 

and harry feels sorry for niall, sometimes, he does. he didn't sign up for this, for the constant wars he's stuck between. niall only wanted the singing and the fame and the fun, and instead he wound up with four broken boys.

 

"you're burning each other out, y'know? maybe you should try and put yourselves on hold."

 

"maybe you should go ask liam and zayn that," louis replies, and harry misses when his tone used to be sharp. now he just sounds defeated, weak, and harry doesn't like it.

 

"yeah," niall says, and he frowns as he looks at them.

 

(poor niall).

 

"maybe."

 

*

harry’s thighs are straining and his arms hurt from being pinned above his head, but he’s always liked the pain anyway. louis’ looming above him, his thrusts deep and slow, and he’s swearing under his breath, a mantra of _so good for me, haz, so pretty, you should see how beautiful you are right now._

 

his vision is slightly hazy from the pleasure, and he’s letting out these little choked whimpers every so often. louis’ got him all exposed, and harry isn’t sure how he feels being this vulnerable, but it’s worth it for the way louis’ eyes roam over his skin as if he can’t believe harry is real.

 

and it’s kind of funny because harry often thinks the same, has these moments where he looks across at louis and thinks, _how is this wonderful boy mine._ and maybe they fell in love too young, their hearts still only just developing in their chests, the fragile organs not able to take that much adoration and trust and good old-fashioned love. maybe that was their first mistake among many, hindering them from being anything other than a car crash of emotions.

 

but then louis changes his angle and hisses out _i love you so fucking much_ and harry’s eyes roll back in his head as he comes, clenching around louis and slurring back _love you too._

 

and harry thinks it doesn’t matter, that they’ll deal with everything as it comes and just savor being in the moment. that the car crash is worth it.

 

(but it’s not. it never is).

 

 

*

 

liam and danielle break up, and it's not a surprise. harry doesn't know the full story, but he does know that zayn and liam are happier now.

 

he watches them when the band have some down time, watches the way they interact, and wonders when the last time was that he and louis looked at each other like that. he looks over to louis, trying to catch his gaze, but he's on his phone. harry knows who he's texting.

 

harry corners liam when he goes to take a piss, the grimy tiles of the venue bathroom and their reflections the only witnesses.

 

"so you love zayn, then?" he asks, and liam looks taken off guard.

 

"well... yeah."

 

harry watches him a moment longer, his lips pursed with questions, _(do you ever fight now? does he love you back? do you think it’s going to kill you?)_. he swallows them down.

 

"was that all, harry?" liam asks as they leave the bathroom.

 

harry doesn't answer, just bumps his shoulder into liam's as they walk and hopes he understands.

 

(he doesn't).

 

 

*

 

louis faints during their next sound check and harry watches him, watches the collapse of his knees and the way his body hits the floor.

 

for a moment the world pauses, as if in shock, as everyone's head whips round to stare at the broken boy on the floor. and then suddenly everything erupts, voices shrieking and yelling, "call an ambulance!"

 

niall has louis' head cradled in his lap and liam and zayn are either side of him, trying to rouse him. paul’s shouting into his mobile and more people are running around frantically, and harry watches, his hands clenched at his side.

 

louis' not waking up and no one knows what to do, doesn't know what's happening. harry watches as they lift his top, watches the shift of their expressions as they see what's he's done to himself, the smooth curves of his bones.

 

liam stares at harry, his eyes wide, and harry nods. he knew, yes, he knew.

 

the ambulance arrives and the paramedics load louis into the back and harry watches everything as if it's in slow motion. paul gets in with them and they drive off, and now all the other boys are gathered around him and harry's hands are still balled into fists.

 

liam's shouting at him, his eyes narrowed and his mouth twisted into an ugly shape, but harry doesn't care.

 

"leave it," zayn eventually says, his hand on liam's shoulder, and harry watches as liam immediately deflates, as zayn and him exchange a look.

 

(harry wonders what he and louis did wrong).

 

*

 

(it’s around this time that zayn gets perrie, and harry watches as liam and zayn tear each other apart. he doesn’t comfort them, doesn’t reassure them that it will get better, that having her there will be worth it in the long run).

 

(he doesn’t lie).

 

*

 

louis' in the hospital for two weeks, and harry doesn't visit him once.

 

he chain-smokes through a pack a day, sometimes two, and refuses to see anyone. the boys try and get him to go with them to the hospital, pleading _'he's been asking for you, haz'_ and harry just shakes his head. he doesn't want to see louis like this, broken and bleeding and with his shield lost in battle, unable to protect himself against harry's fierce attack.

 

they've got him attached to a feeding tube and he's not even fighting them, too defeated to do anything but nod meekly every time someone tells him, _'this is not the way to live'_. they have to reschedule shows and tell the fans that louis has a bad case of the flu when word gets out that he's hospitalised. they trend #getwellsoonlouis worldwide on twitter, and it's cute, yeah. but harry wishes they'd just give up.

 

when louis eventually gets out they all gather together in one of the boys' rooms, ordering take away and planning a friday the 13th film marathon. louis walks in supported by niall and it's the first time harry's seen him since he collapsed.

 

he's so pretty, hair styled carefully on top of his head and his skin has regained some of it's natural glow. he's small and petite, even standing next to niall, and his eyes are such a lovely colour of blue when he offers harry a weak smile. harry can feel an ache in his chest from how beautiful he is.

 

harry looks over at him, says, "looking a little plump there, lou," and watches as louis' face shuts down, his eyes going hard. he draws in on himself and the other boys yell at harry. all harry can think is, _he deserves it._

 

(and he does).

 

(and he still curls up to harry’s side while they watch the horror movie, pressing barely-there kisses to harry’s cheek).

 

*

 

harry remembers when they  first started out, all the way back in the xfactor house, when everything was new and interesting.

 

he remembers trying to control his smile every time louis touched him, and their whispered nights spent in each other’s' bunks. harry remembers when all the fairytales and love stories first started to make sense to him.

 

"you still love him, right?"

 

harry looks across at niall and takes another swig from the bottle of vodka in his hand. turns out the cigarettes weren't enough.

 

"what?"

 

"louis? you still love each other?"

 

harry doesn't answer.

 

*

 

he walks in on one of the tech guys fucking louis, and it feels like the world stops.

 

they're on harry and louis' bed - _their bed_ \- and louis' on his hands and knees, facing the door. neither of them notice him at first, too caught up in the way louis let's out grunts every time the guy - max? mike? - thrusts into him.

 

and it's just -

 

harry knows they weren't exactly the perfect couple, knows that it's been a long time since they've kissed each other without teeth involved, but he thought -

 

louis looks up then and sees him, and harry's chest hurts from the smirk which unravels across his face. he lets out an exaggerated moan, says "yes, please, _more_ " and winks at harry, as if to say, _you deserve it._

 

harry stumbles from the room before the tech guy can see him and slumps to the floor in the hall, his head in his hands. he wants to be angry, knows that if it were anyone other than him they would be fucking furious, would march back in there and demand louis to tell them what the hell he thought he was doing, but -

 

he's not, he's harry.

 

(and he deserves it).

 

*

 

one direction are becoming a thing of the past and they’re clutching onto fame like it’s a lifeline, all five of them dangling off the edge of the plank. they don’t go out with a bang, like harry had expected. it’s more like a gradual fade into the background, like chalk being washed off of a sidewalk by the rain.

 

there’s new names and prettier faces and younger stars, and they can’t really complain. they’ve been doing this gig for years now, had some of the best experiences of their lives while in this band, and they count their lucky stars that they haven’t been tossed to the curb before now.

 

harry misses the performing side of it, of course he does, but he’s so happy for the newfound privacy and how seldom he sees his own face splashed across the front page of a tabloid.

 

they all do their own projects, still keeping in touch and occasionally coming together to do reunion tours, more for their name than anything else. their voices aren’t much anymore, not with the toils and troubles they put them through.

 

and maybe harry was silly for assuming that the lack of fame meant that louis and him would improve, that they’d finally be able to have their chance of peace. they don’t fight as often, sure, and their touches are softer than they used to be, but –

 

they’re hollow, almost. they’re all each other has ever known and it’s the thing which breaks them again and again, but they can’t do anything about it now. harry sometimes wishes he could go back and rewrite history, make it so louis and him only remained friends. maybe then that would save them their sanity.

 

but then louis will thank him for his mug of tea with a gentle kiss and a look of gratitude, on the mornings when they can muster the effort to get out of bed, and harry doesn’t think he’d give up louis for anything in the world.

 

*

 

it’s not perfect.

 

louis rarely eats and harry needs at least a couple of drinks to get him through the day, and harry hates the mess they’ve become. they avoid talking to their friends and family unless they absolutely have to, the phone always ringing to voicemail, and their eyes are nearly always glassy and distant.

 

but louis will press kisses against harry’s lips and murmur, “until we die, yeah?”

 

and maybe their end will come sooner than  harry had thought when he was the tender age of sixteen and falling in love for the first time, but he thinks that louis is a car crash he wouldn’t mind not surviving.

 

*

 

(and they don’t).

 

*

**Author's Note:**

> don't you love how i managed to write smut without once mentioning the word 'cock'? i'm so lame.
> 
> i'm on tumblr: softsleepylouis.


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